CHAPTER XX
“WHEN LOVERS MEET IN ADVERSE HOUR”
Rosemary quickly put on the olive green linsey suit in which she had crossed the sea, and the little round traveling cap in which she had ridden to the city, and hurried downstairs to join her uncle.
Her dress was not too warm for these late April days.
“Come, my little love,” said the old skipper, “I could not find a carriage for you on the stand, nor even at the livery stable around the corner; so there is nothing for us but to pack ourselves into a moving black hole they call a street car or to walk. I think by walking fast we could reach Capitol Hill sooner than by riding in one of these cars.”
“Let us walk, by all means,” promptly replied Rosemary.
Then went downstairs together and set out for a brisk rate down Pennsylvania Avenue.
It was a fine morning, with a bright sun, and a deep blue sky mottled lightly with feathery white clouds, as became an April day.
“You must keep up your heart, little girl,” said the old man, as they walked on.
“I do try to do so. I have trust in the Lord; and, under Him, in you, Uncle Gideon. But oh! when I think of how the news affected her, my heart almost dies in my breast,” sighed the girl.
“Mrs. Force, do you mean?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But why?”
“Oh, don’t you see? If the news of Roland’s danger affected her so greatly, his state must be very serious.”
“My dear, Roland may have had nothing to do with the lady’s attack. It looks to me as if it was an apoplectic fit, such as might have happened to any middle-aged man or woman without any outside cause. Besides, I never heard of Mrs. Force taking the least interest in the young man, or even the slightest notice of him beyond mere civility.”
“Yes, she did—I am sure she did! I always thought—but indeed I hardly know why I thought so—that she was kinder to me on account of Roland. She always sympathized with me. And it was the news of Roland’s peril that brought on her illness—I know it was!”
“How do you know it, my dear?”
“Because I was watching her while Wynnette was reading the paper. I was almost ready to die with my trouble, and I was looking to her for help and comfort—because she always sympathized with me—and I saw her start, and her eyes grow wide and scared, and her face turn white; and then I saw her rise to leave the room. And then, but not till then, the others saw her, and went to her; but she sent them all back. And I knew it was about Roland, and I thought there was no hope for him, and I fell to screaming. Oh, uncle, it was so very bad in me to go on screaming so, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t faint and forget all about it, like Amanda Fitzallen used to do when she couldn’t stand things any longer, so I had to keep screaming. If I hadn’t I do think my heart would have bursted!”
“It was all quite enough to frighten you into hysterics, my poor little girl, when I was not on hand to reassure you. But still, my dear, in future you must control yourself. There is nothing more contemptible in this world than a man or woman who cannot control himself or herself.”
“But, uncle—my heart would have bursted if I hadn’t screamed.”
“Then, my dear, you should have let it burst, rather than have screamed. This may seem harsh to you, my dear, but it is the best kindness. Self-control, my little girl, is one of the mightiest powers in this world. It is the soul of the ruler, my dear,” said the old skipper; and having taken this text he preached on it until they reached the foot of the Capitol Hill, and he lost his wind in climbing up it.
In a short time they reached the Old Capitol prison.
Capt. Grandiere had procured two passes, and armed with these, presented himself and his niece at the guarded door, and was permitted to enter.
“I know the way now! But let me take a long breath before I begin to climb all these stairs that are before us!” said the old man, as he dropped upon a rude bench in the hall and began to wipe his face.
Rosemary sat down beside him, and peeped charily through her green veil at the sentries that stood before the closed doors on each side the hall.
Presently the captain arose and told Rosemary to come along, and began to ascend the stairs.
They went up three flights and found themselves on the third floor of the building, in a wide passage, with closed doors, guarded by sentries on each side.
Walking between these they reached the front end of the hall, where a small apartment had been made across it by a partition of wood. Before a rude door a sentry stood.
Capt. Grandiere showed his permits, and the soldier opened the door to let them pass.
They entered the small room, which, however, had the advantage of a large window and of perfect cleanliness—of almost aggressive cleanliness—for everything smelt of fresh water and fresh whitewash.
Roland Bayard sat on the side of his narrow cot, engaged in reading the morning paper.
As his visitors entered the place he looked up, and gave a cry of mingled pleasure and reproach.
“Uncle! Rosemary! Oh, Rosemary! Oh, uncle, how could you? Why did you?”
“Roland! Dear Roland! I couldn’t help it! I wanted to see you so much! Oh, Roland, you are glad to see me, are you not?” pleaded Rosemary, going to him and putting both her hands on his shoulders, with all the innocent candor of her childhood.
“‘Glad’ to see you? ‘Glad!’” echoed the young man, in a broken voice, as he took her tiny hands and pressed them to his heart and to his lips, while his hot tears fell upon them.
Rosemary burst into a storm of tears and wept upon his shoulder.
“Oh, uncle!” reproachfully exclaimed Roland, “why did you bring this child here?”
“Because no power on earth would have kept her away! If I had not brought her, she would have done some deadly thing! She would have gone and got a pass for herself. She would have come here alone and exposed herself to insult on the way! You don’t know what desperate dare-devils these little blue-eyed angels of our race can be, where their friends are in danger or in trouble!” said the old man.
“And, oh! it is not only that I wanted to see you,” said Rosemary, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, “but I wanted to beg you for my sake—for my sake, Roland, to be just to yourself! To have mercy on yourself! You know, as we know, that you are not a pirate or a slave-stealer! You know, as we know, that you were taken prisoner by the pirates when the _Kitty_ was captured! Capt. Grandiere can testify to that! But he cannot swear that you never joined the pirate crew after you became their prisoner! He cannot swear that you never became the pirate captain’s mate, as they charge you with being. Only you can tell what you did after recovering from your wounds on board the pirate ship. We know that you remained true to yourself and to your friends and to every principle of manhood and honesty, and we could swear that you did, from our lifelong knowledge of you! But, oh, Roland! But, oh, Roland! Such testimony would not be worth anything in a court of law, where moral conviction is not legal evidence! Oh, dear, dear Roland! Take pity on yourself and on us, and testify to the facts that will vindicate you!”
These were her words, but no pen can give the pleading, prayerful, pathetic tones and looks and gestures with which they were uttered.
The whole strong frame of the young man shook with the emotion that convulsed his soul.
“Rosemary!” he said, at length, in a broken voice, “I am about to speak the words that must separate us forever.”
He paused, and she took up his cue.
“That you cannot do, Roland! Neither man nor angel can utter words which would separate us forever. In this world we may be parted, Roland, if such be your will. But not forever! Not forever!” she said, in her tender, vibrating tones.
“Rosemary, hear me! I cannot give the testimony that would vindicate myself, because the same testimony would convict Capt. Silver.”
“He will be convicted fast enough without your testimony,” put in the old skipper.
“Then it would help to convict him, so I must not give it.”
“But, oh! Roland, why should you care for that wicked man—that wickedest man in the whole world?” pleaded Rosemary.
“Because, poor child—and now come the words that must part us—because I am his son!”
Rosemary stared in blank amazement, while she grew pale as ashes.
“You are no more his son than you are my son! And not half so much as you are Abel Force’s son! Deuce take you, lad, are you such a baby as to be beguiled by that man’s lies? He found out your early history, and has made use of the facts, as well as of the want of facts, to deceive you and claim you as his son, to get you in his power, to make you his comrade, if he could, and to tie your tongue in any case. Ah! you must be a blind bat, indeed, not to see through him!”
“Ah! Capt. Grandiere, old friend, you do not know! You do not know! Capt. Silver has proved the truth of his story to me,” replied Roland, in a tone of despair.
“How has he proved this?” demanded the old skipper.
“I dare not tell you that. His story involves the—the—honor of another—of another family. I cannot breathe another word on this subject beyond the bare fact that I know myself to be Silver’s son, and will not give testimony to convict my father. So much was due to you, and told that you may know why I will not testify.”
“Then——!——!——!” The old skipper let off a volley of oaths that might have been highly effectual in a storm at sea, or a fight with pirates, but that fell on Rosemary’s delicate ears like claps of thunder, and made her put her hands up to shelter them—and he finished by saying—“If I don’t give a hint to the authorities and have you put upon the stand and compelled to give evidence.”
The young man made no reply, but turning to Rosemary, began to ask about their mutual friends.
The girl answered all his questions to the best of her knowledge.
This conversation lasted until the old skipper arose to take leave.
“Captain,” said Roland, “my advice to you is to take Rosemary down to Maryland and leave her there with her friends. Washington, under present circumstances, is certainly no place for the child.”
“I will not go, Roland. I will not stir from this city until I see you through this trouble!” said the girl.
“You hear that?” inquired the old skipper. “And you see that I could not get her away without turning Turk and tyrant, and calling in the power of the law and using force and violence to back up that. What can an old ruffian like me, even though I weigh two hundred pounds, and am the terror of the roughest crew afloat, do with a mite of a blue-eyed angel? She’ll do as she likes, if she dies for it!” growled the skipper.
“You will let me come to see you every day, Roland, and in that way I can try to bear this,” pleaded Rosemary.
“May the Lord bless you, my child. May the Lord bless you and keep you safe always!” breathed Roland, as he folded her to his heart and kissed her—even as he had been accustomed to do when he was a little lad and she was a baby.
And so the interview ended.